Finding Heaven
by Jet44
Summary: Sheppard dies defending Proculus and finds himself on a plane where he is allowed to live out his fantasies, which soon turn to Atlantis and his friends....and spark a determination to return to life. Shep whumping, happy ending, no slash.
1. The doom! It impends!

**The Doom! It Impends!**

**FORESTED AREA ON PLANET ARGOS**

"And if Taggart and his men get to the shock field generator before we do–" Carson was gasping for breath under the weight of his heavy pack.

"They can overwhelm Chaya's ability to defend the population of Proculus. The shock wave would kill her and most of the humans -"

"- Leaving Taggart's people free to mine the rich resources of the planet," finished Sheppard. "Well, I always dreamed of growing up and going hunting for a shock field generator in an alien forest."

Sheppard yelped in sudden pain, twisting around to look accusingly at his rear. A buzzing round object was attached to him and bearing down with a formidable collection of teeth, growing a brighter yellow as blood started to flow.

"Well? Get it off me!" he growled at his companions, wondering if he would ever get used to the endless procession of creepy. "Faithful leader being bitten in the ass by creepy yellow bug, hellooo…"

"Ah – yes. Right away," said Carson, unshouldering his medical kit and starting to fish for supplies. The creature, looking more like a happy yellow 8-ball with teeth by the moment, shook its prey and elicited another violent complaint from the colonel.

"Hold still, John," said Teyla, raising her banto rod and taking careful aim. Her blow failed to stun or dislodge the creature, whose toothy mouth simply angled downward in a pout. Ronon glanced at Teyla in irritation and drew his gun, firing at the creature just as Sheppard turned to speak.

"What the – owwww! Stop trying to help meeeeeee!" Sheppard grabbed Ronan's gun. A fain sheen of sweat was just visible on his face. "I said get it off, not 'please shoot me in the ass because I'm not in nearly enough pain as it is.'"

Ronan grinned and holstered his gun. "And now I get to tell everyone I meet about the time I shot my commanding officer in the back. Side."

Rodney poked at the wound with his finger. "It's only a graze. You'll be fine."

"Rodney, you just poked my ass! Do you have any idea how _not_ fine that is?" asked Sheppard, more for the amusement value of watching Rodney's reaction than anything else.

Rodney's face went slightly pale and he backed away with his hands in the air. "Trying to help – trying to help….."

"All things considered, I think I prefer Ronon's way of helping me," muttered Sheppard. Ronon fingered his gun speculatively. "Carson! Would you get this damn thing off me before I get killed by my own team?"

"Why is Carson the only one who can get it off?" asked Rodney. "His degree is in medicine, not killing esoteric off-world fauna. That really is Ronon's line of expertise."

"Well, for one thing, he doesn't shoot his patients _or_ hit them with big sticks," said Sheppard.

"Hey, did I whine this much when I got shot in the gluteus maximus by an arrow?" asked Rodney. "I think not. I was brave and stoic and –"

"Yes, you did," corrected Carson, standing with several syringes and bandages in his hand.

"You whined for weeks," said Ronon, grinning.

McKay's response was cut short by an angry buzzing in the distance. More of them. "We are so screwed."

"Don't talk to me about screwed," said Sheppard. "I'm getting bitten in the ass by a smiley-face!"

"It does – somewhat resemble a smiley-face, didn't it?" said Rodney, giving it a speculative look. A grin spread across his face. "You're being attacked by the internet!"

"What do you mean?" asked Ronon. "The bug-thing, it's called an internet?"

Rodney sighed. "No, the creepy-toothy-bug thing is a – smiley face. The internet is an earth thing. Trust me, you're better off not knowing. It can be scarier than – well, pretty much anything we've encountered in the Pegasus galaxy."

Sheppard groaned. "This is so not a good start to the day. Anyone else sense impending doom? I think there's impending doom."

**FIELD GENERATOR SITE, PLANET ARGOS**

Rodney's upper body was under the field generator, and the others were on guard for Taggart's men while they tried to ignore the buzzing of smiley bugs in the forest.

Sheppard kept fighting the urge to place a hand protectively on his posterior every time he heard them.

Finally the scientist sat up. "All done. But we have a couple of problems."

"Of course we do," said Sheppard, rolling his eyes. "Just once, I'd like to hear 'everything's fine, we can all go home now,' Rodney. Once!"

"Perhaps this is where the impending doom comes in," suggested Beckett with the faintest hint of a mischievous smile.

"Okay, first problem," said McKay. "The fire control unit is much larger and heavier than I anticipated, and I can't disable it with the equipment we have here. I was able to get it disconnected, but it's going to take at least three people to carry it to the gate."

"Okay, on a scale of one to ten, I'd say that's a two as far as problems go," said Sheppard. "Next?"

"Even without the fire control unit, this device can be operated by anyone with the ancient gene. All Taggart has to do is find someone with the gene."

"Okay, so we blow it up," said Sheppard. "Simple enough."

"Ah." Rodney held up a finger. "Already thought of that. But if we destroy this device, the people of this planet lose their only protection from the wraith. What we need to do is come back with the proper equipment and reprogram it so that the device can only generate a shock field large enough to protect _this_ planet, and not be used to harm Proculus."

Sheppard scratched his head where something had fallen from one of the trees above. "All right, let's move out. We'll get the fire control back to Atlantis, then come back with a team of marines to reprogram the thing."

**.5 KILOMETERS FROM THE SHOCK FIELD GENERATOR, EN ROUTE TO STARGATE**

Sheppard raised up briefly to return fire from behind the rock. It wasn't going well. His team was running low on bullets, and Taggart's men seemed to be fanning out, surrounding them.

Time for a new plan.

He retrieved his one remaining grenade and knelt beside Teyla. "I'm going to sneak out of here, come around behind them, and create a diversion. You guys get the control unit back to the gate. I'll be right behind you."

He was heading back to the gate when the crack of gunfire sounded, and his left leg unexpectedly gave out, sending him sprawling face-down on the forest floor.


	2. Ouch!

Relieved of his weapons and sitting awkwardly at gunpoint, Sheppard examined the wound in his leg. It was only now starting to throb, but it was a nasty one. Right through the upper leg. Had to have either struck bone or come close, and blood was flowing steadily from the wound.

He looked at Taggart, slowly moving one hand towards the pocket of his tactical vest. "I need to bandage this." Taggart nodded, keeping the gun aimed directly at Sheppard's chest. He tied the bandage as tightly as he dared, trying to slow the bleeding.

"Now. On your feet," ordered Taggart. One of his men advanced with a sadistic gleam in his eye, clearly eager to enforce the order. Unwilling to afford him the chance, Sheppard forced himself to his feet. For the first time he felt the pain of the wound, and he gritted his teeth, trying not to moan. Taggart jerked the gun. "Now. Back to the field generator."

The leg was nearly useless, but Sheppard forced himself forward. Any time he could kill staggering towards the generator and not getting beaten would be time for his team to mount a rescue. The pain was growing with every step, and there was a sickening numbness in his lower leg. He halted, realizing he was drenched in sweat. "Look – I'm gonna need a crutch of some sort." He pointed to a stout stick lying nearby.

Taggart looked at him with obvious irritation, but clearly recognized from the colonel's glazed expression that his weakness was genuine. He picked up the stick and placed it in Sheppard's left hand. "Do I need to warn you not to try using this as a weapon?' Sheppard shook his head and pressed doggedly forward. He didn't need to fake anything to keep the pace slow; each step was a feat of strength and endurance.

He collapsed at the base of the shock field generator, pale and shaking. He was sorry to have reached their destination, but his relief of not having to walk any further overshadowed the knowledge of the certain ordeal to come.

The hammer of a gun clicked close to his ear. "Since you were kind enough to steal our only means of operating this device, we're left with just one option. You carry the ancient gene. You will activate the generator and fire its field at Proculus."

"Or, what, you'll shoot me?" asked Sheppard, raising his eyebrows. "How many ancient-gene-carriers you got lying around this planet?"

The gun traced downward, its muzzle pressing lightly at the wound in his leg. "Not fatally," said Taggart. "Shall we start with another bullet to prove my determination, or would you like to do the sensible thing and power up the generator?"

Sheppard looked uneasily at the gun. "Let's go with the not shooting."

"Good choice." Taggart stepped back, motioning to one of his men to help Sheppard to his feet. He groaned at the pain in his crippled leg, but managed to stay upright by leaning his weight on the console. Stalling as long as he could, he placed his palms on the control screens and closed his eyes.

The mental disconnect involved in controlling the ancient device relieved some of his pain, and he rested momentarily before focusing on the task at hand. Proculus. The planet appeared in his vision, and he explored the capabilities of the lethal machine until he found what he was looking for. The device wasn't designed for communication, but a low-level energy pulse could be purposed as a low-tech transmitter. _You are in danger. I will protect you for as long as I can, but - _

The sharp report of a gun sounded, deafening him as the bullet grazed a searing line of pain along his ribs. _Back to the here and now._ He allowed himself to fall to the ground, and clutching the side of his chest, he looked steadily at Taggart. "Save the threats."

Taggart's man hefted the stick Sheppard had used as a cane, and Sheppard let his weakened body slump sideways, lying down as he closed his eyes. He didn't cry out as he was beaten; he was in shock and rapidly losing consciousness.

* * *

Sheppard had learned long ago to move with caution when regaining consciousness, so he didn't stir at first when the world started to drift back. It hurt. It usually did. His leg was throbbing horribly, and his whole body was chilled and aching. He was lying on a hard surface that wasn't doing his various injuries any favors, and his head hurt. He made a cautious attempt to move, and failed. He was tied down to the board, ropes biting into his limbs. He stopped moving, knowing the method of restraint didn't bode well for how he'd be treated once he was officially awake.

It was a waiting game now. Time to gather his thoughts, his strength, and his wits. Time to avoid thinking about what was to come. He steadied his breathing, and felt his heartbeat follow. He relaxed against the ropes, allowed his head to spin at will, and focused on the few parts of his body that didn't hurt as he imagined himself safe at home in Atlantis.

Footsteps approached, and something cold and hard was pressed against his neck. A split second later, his body convulsed and a painful shock forced a groan from his lips. "Ahh, so we're awake now."

Sheppard focused on breathing calmly, in and out. Torture was a mind game, a challenge, and fear was the surest way to lose. "Hi, there," he said, opening his eyes. "That was a hell of a greeting, what happened to 'nice to meet you, how are you today?'"

"I prefer to be direct," said the man standing above him. "My men saw your people take the fire control unit through the gate. They also saw the gate address. But it seems there's some sort of force field that prevents me from following. He held up a small object. "I assume this requires a code to deactivate the force field. What is it?"

Sheppard blinked "You going to torture me for it?"

Taggart gave him a dark smile. "I think you know the answer."

"I hate being tortured," muttered Sheppard. "Fine. The code is l4m3r-f00."

Taggart, completely missing the glint of mischief behind Sheppard's stoic expression, lost no time in entering the code. When it failed to work, he slammed a boot into Sheppard's ribs.

He took his time recovering, gasping for breath. Any way to drag this out, to delay each blow, was a way to minimize the damage his torturer would inflict and gain time for a rescue. When he knew Taggart was readying another kick, he spoke. "Oh, sorry. Try 1-pwned-y00."

Sheppard had just enough time to grin before the yet-again-foiled Taggart stomped down hard on his hand, and he felt the sickening snap of bone. The break didn't actually add much to the dull roar of pain from his injuries, but it made his stomach flip. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing again. _In and out. It can be fixed. Shift your reality_. He was in the infirmary, with Carson blathering on about something in that comforting little Scottish accent of his. The morphine would start working soon.

"Get him on the ship," ordered Taggart. "We can't wait around on this planet any longer, I'm sure jackass here has forces coming for him."

"I was hoping you wouldn't think of that," grumbled Sheppard.

* * *

Elizabeth was watching anxiously as the team returned. Ronon shook his head with a low growl. "He's been transported off-world. We didn't find him."

Rodney stared at the floor. "Carson found – a lot of blood."

"Aye," said the doctor. "Quite a frightening amount, actually. It it's his, he'll be needing surgery and blood transfusions soon, or he will die."

"Most – likely his," said Rodney, his face rigid to control the emotion he was holding back. "It was all over the control console of the field generator, and since I'm guessing they forced him to activate it-" Teyla stopped him with a gentle touch on his back.

* * *

"I can tell you are a brave man," said Taggart, kneeling beside Sheppard. Sheppard wasn't feeling particularly brave. A man could feel many things in his situation, but brave was never one of them. Determined, nauseated, dazed – not brave. He didn't reply.

Taggart aimed a small video camera at Sheppard. "I also know that human sympathy can be easier to exploit even than fear of pain. We'll record a little message for your friends, and see if they break before you do."

"Not likely," said Sheppard. "Unless you're after Teyla's tuttleroot soup recipe, or Rodney's-"

* * *

"Incoming wormhole!" shouted a technician from above. "We're receiving a video transmission from a ship."

Elizabeth Weir leaned her palms on the console. Several failed attempts to breach the gate with no IDC had been made, and she could only assume they had been made by Taggart's men. "Video only?" she asked. The tech nodded. "Very well. Let it through. View only, don't transmit anything."

She managed not to flinch at the sight, but the other team members didn't bother controlling their reactions. Their leader was bound, covered with his own blood, and unable to conceal the severe pain reflected in his eyes despite a clear determination to try.

Carson paled and closed his eyes. "Not again," he said, his voice breaking softly.

* * *

"I'll take one of two things," said Taggart, his voice calm. "The code from you, or the fire control unit from your friends. I'd prefer the control box, and I think that's what I'm most likely to get. They can send it through nice and easy, and I drop you off for them to find. You might even be alive when they do, if this doesn't drag on too long."

His attacker pressed what resembled a cattle prod deeply into the gunshot wound and pressed the button, recording Sheppard's valiant effort to reduce what should have been a scream down to an agonized moan. If his friends had to watch this, he was going to make damn sure it was as easy on them as possible. As soon as the pain receded enough for him to speak, he opened his eyes and looked directly into the camera, managing a small smile at those who would be watching. "Don't do it. Bastard'll probably steal the recipe and open restaurants all over the galaxy."

With familiarity with pain came the ability to cope with it. He disconnected from reality, and thought about every time he'd been rescued, and the love he felt for the people who always seemed to come for it when he needed it most. He thought about an honorable wraith who had hurt him beyond anything he could have imagined, yet gave him back his life in an act of brotherhood.

And when he couldn't ignore the pain, he imagined he was merely injured and his friends were racing to help. Simple injury, no matter how painful, was easier to cope with than torture. He was in the infirmary again. No matter how much he had suffered there, he'd always been safe, been cared for.

_"Carson, help -"_

_"Be right there, lad. You just hold on now-"_

Sheppard heard his own growls of agony as though they belonged to someone else, a someone else he felt very sorry for. Not for the first time in his life, he felt himself dying. The shock ended and he gasped for breath.

"You won't last much longer, Sheppard."

"Noticed that," Sheppard replied, thinking about blinking his eyes open and deciding against it. The gunshot wound had been a nasty one, and he was all too aware of lying in a growing pool of his own blood, his body failing as the wetness spread. Absent a rescue or at the very least some competent medical care, he would be dead soon.

"Just tell us the code, and this ends."

He managed a lazy smile. "Think we established it's ending pretty soon anyway." He'd chosen this line of work. He lived with the constant knowledge that his life was most likely to end early, violently, and most likely painfully. He didn't really have a problem with that; definitely not his first choice, but something he'd come to terms with a long time ago.

A kick slammed into the gunshot wound in his leg, and he gave a sharp howl of pain. "Hey, now!" he protested, mocking. "That wasn't nice."

"Tell me the code," repeated the monotone voice, low with menace.

Sheppard opened his eyes and looked directly at the man. "You know, I'm running out of creative ways to say no, and I'm getting kind of tired, too. So let's make me a deal. You stop bothering me with questions, and I take a nap while you torture me some more."

There was icy anger in his attacker's eyes, but defeat as well. The poor fellow didn't realize that once you'd been fed on by a wraith – there was nothing a mere human could do to match the pain and horror of that.

The world started to go black and cold, and Sheppard screamed in earnest. People being tortured often wanted to die, but he didn't. _I love life, I love my friends. I don't want to go. _It was over, his body was dead, and he was still howling. It all vanished in a blink, flashes of light and space surrounding him as he clenched his eyes shut against reality.


	3. Afterlife

Sheppard's body was thrust through the event horizon still bound to the board that had restrained him. Carson was first at his side, checking for a pulse, for any sign of life. He shook his head. "There's no use," he said in quiet shock. "He's gone." He covered his own grief with action, unfastening the ropes and wiping blood away from the major's face.

Rodney's face was pale. "Oh, God." The scientist was in utter misery, unable to tear his eyes away from the body of his friend. "I can't even imagine – no, no, the problem is I _can_ imagine –"

Carson interrupted him, speaking softly as he looked at Sheppard's body. "If it's any comfort at'all – John had a very high pain threshold, and he was good at coping with trauma. There's no doubting he was in pain, but he may not have been suffering as much as we imagine."

Rodney sat down hard. "No. Fancy that, it doesn't help. My friend was just tortured to death. There is just no upside to that."

Carson put a hand on McKay's shoulder. "He was my friend too, you know. I'm a bloody doctor, not a robot."

* * *

Elizabeth paused before opening the door, taking advantage of the last few moments of privacy before facing the others.

For John Sheppard's funeral.

It was only now beginning to seem real. He'd walked into the face of death and come away alive so many times now that she couldn't shake the feeling that any moment she'd turn a corner and he'd be standing there with a mischievous little smirk on his face. _No. No. His remains are in a box. He's dead. No. _She squeezed her eyes shut hard to stop the tears and walked out the door.

Carson closed the lid on the coffin and buried his head in his hands, letting the doctor step away and the human being come out. It stopped being a cadaver in there and became the body of a friend who had died horribly.

_Bloody hell, John. I can't just put you in a box and not say goodbye._

He opened the lid again. The human being looked at Sheppard's face, the face of a friend and a leader who'd survived so much, with such – spirit. He closed the lid softly. Never know a moment when John Sheppard couldn't grin. Bloody tragedy.

He stood. "I can't believe you're dead, my friend."

* * *

The waking up was considerably more pleasant than the dying. He was warm and comfortable, his whole being filled with peace. Someone was holding him, someone who cared. A hand caressed the side of his face and ran through his hair. Someone female.

His instincts reminded him to proceed with caution, to assess the situation before revealing he was awake. He felt a soft kiss on his cheek, a tender hand stroking his back. Whoever was holding him was kind, even loving. The goal of every touch seemed to be to comfort, to reassure.

Sheppard blinked his eyes open and stared into the face of a goddess. "Heaven?" he guessed, confused. It wouldn't have been his top guess before dying, but where else did a man wake up from death in a cloud of white being held in the arms of a beautiful woman?

"Not exactly," said Chaya. "I'm actually not certain I've done you any favors by doing what I've done, but I couldn't bring myself to watch you go."

"What _have_ you done – exactly?" asked Sheppard, sitting up. He glanced at his leg. Intact. He felt relaxed and refreshed, and there was not a trace of soreness in his body. "Because right now, this feels like a favor."

"When your body died, I transported your consciousness up here, to a suspended plane. Your body no longer exists, but you still exist. All your memories, your feelings, your soul."

"So how do I get out?"

"That's just the thing. You won't be permitted to ascend, and your body no longer functions. So you are effectively trapped on this plane of existence."

"People are awfully fond of telling me I can't escape," complained Sheppard, amused. "Doesn't mean I won't."

Chaya laughed. "You may not hate it here so very much. This plane is what you make of it. Anything you can dream of can be your reality here. It can be a beautiful island with cool breezes, or a warm cabin in a snowy forest. You can explore, even fight if you wish. Surf……"

Sheppard smiled. He appeared on a warm beach, sand between his toes and fresh salt air ruffling his hair. Perfect blue-green waves were cresting one after the other; a polished surfboard was tucked under his arm. He walked to the edge of the surf and allowed the warm water to play over his feet as it ebbed and flowed. "Heaven. Huh. I honestly wasn't expecting this."

Chaya was standing beside him, her eyes sparkling, inviting. He set the board down on the sand and reached for her, questioning. She leaned into him, and he caressed the sides of her face with his hands, something in him melting at the tenderness he saw there. Their lips met in a kiss, and he drew it out, relishing the moment in delight and finally, simply, touching his forehead to hers as they held each other.

"I won't be allowed to stay here," Chaya said, pushing him away softly. "I may not even be allowed to speak with you again. I was only permitted to do this because you died while defending Proculus. But you will find peace here."

She vanished in a flash as though forcibly jerked away, leaving Sheppard alone on the beach, standing next to his surfboard. He sat, feeling hollow. He was in paradise, but – he longed for something else. The surroundings grew fuzzy and white, and he allowed himself to grieve.


	4. Homesick

So his heaven was Atlantis base. If this place was what he wanted to make of it - he'd toured every paradise of his imagination, and he kept coming back to a floating city in the Pegasus galaxy.

The exhilaration of living out his fantasies faded all too quickly. He saved his friends in Afghanistan, piloted the space shuttle, and his father even told him he loved him, but the hollow ache in his heart didn't go away.

At first he talked to them, went on missions with them, sparred and played. But he didn't have the heart to force his friends into being his fantasy companions, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was violating them, or his memory of them, by doing so. So he simply stood in Atlantis, desperately alone.

It was night, and the control room was quiet, a skeleton crew manning the stations. Elizabeth walked in, and stood looking at the Stargate with a faraway look in her eyes. John closed his own eyes. _No. You weren't going to do this any more._ He firmly banished the fantasy from his mind and opened his eyes.

She was still there. She didn't see him, but – _was this the real Weir?_ He tried to stifle his leap of hope. Breaking his own rule, he imagined her turning to see him. She didn't move.

Sheppard closed his eyes. _You're losing it. You want this so much you're deceiving your own mind. You don't want to go back there. It's not worth your sanity, get it together. _His heart was pounding. But when he opened his eyes, she was still there, and she didn't look like a desperate hallucination.

"Elizabeth?" he questioned. No response. She was still looking at the floor at base of the gate with that lost expression. "Elizabeth!" he shouted. "Can you hear me?" She clearly couldn't, but she glanced around the room as though searching for something. She drew a deep breath and collected herself before striding out of the room.

Sheppard continued through the city, exploring the familiar halls in the quiet of night. His former living quarters were empty, and he sat down on the bed, finally lying down and pulling the covers around his body. If this was the real Atlantis, he couldn't stay away. It was the only place that made him whole….the only place he loved. The only family he had.

His paradise.

* * *

Beckett blinked his eyes open and lay there in the dark, not wiping away the dampness from them. It had only been couple of weeks since John's death, and he knew that having dreams about a departed friend was – not abnormal. But these – these were so vivid as to be a bittersweet form of emotional torture. Sheppard was there, in his head. It didn't seem like a memory, it was like he was there. But he was sad, and – _no, Carson, he's not haunting you_. He smiled and wiped his eyes. "No, I'm not forgetting you, my friend," he said softly, feeling like a fool.

Sheppard closed his eyes in relief. _I heard that. Thank you_. He was getting better at this, at communicating. Not with Teyla or Ronon yet; Teyla's mental defenses against the wraith were too strong, and Ronan threw him out with a sharp cry of grief and anger. But Wier, McKay, Carson – they all wanted him there, all let him pierce their dreams. Despite himself, Sheppard smiled. Now if only he could control it, communicate the actual images and words he wanted them to hear. The effort had been tiring, and he wanted to sleep. Odd thing, wanting to sleep when you didn't have an actual body to speak of.

* * *

He sat gingerly on the chair beside Elizabeth's bed and sat for a long time, watching her sleep. "You – I don't know if you know this about me, but I don't do being alone very well." He shifted uncomfortably. He knew she couldn't hear him, but the words still came awkwardly to his lips.

"Look – you've read my files. So – maybe you know what you've done for me –" he paused to correct himself, still not used to being dead, "- what you did for me. Giving me a second chance all the way out here in another galaxy…"

He stood and paced. "There was never anything for me but the military. It was my whole life. But then – one break from orders, and I wasn't one of them any more. I was just a guy with so much on his record I was lucky to be flying choppers in the Antarctic."

When he faced her again, she was awake and sitting up in bed, the covers draped loosely around her shoulders. She looked at him for a long time, studying his face with interest. "I thought – am I _interacting_ with you? You can hear me?"

She nodded, fascinated. Sheppard stared back. Was this another of his fantasies, his mind giving him what he longed for? Or had it worked? Had he become something more than a dream?

After a moment of silence between them, she spoke, continuing the conversation as if unwilling to break the thread that had brought him there. "I always found it remarkable that you were so comfortable taking orders from a civilian. A civilian woman, even. That's not very – military."

"Well, _I'm_ not very military," said Sheppard, smiling. "Look at me –the team I put together was a civilian scientist, a civilian doctor, an alien head of state, and a warrior with dreadlocks."

"True," said Weir, smiling. Tears were starting to form in the corners of her eyes. "John –"

"It's okay," he said softly. "I'm kinda sad for me too. But I'm actually in a nice place…."

Now it was Elizabeth who couldn't meet his eyes. "We aren't." Her voice lacked it's usual strength. "We miss you. I don't know who's going to kill Caldwell first, me or Rodney, and Ronon won't do anything but pace around and talk about what he's going to do with Taggart when we find him."

She took a deep breath to steady herself. "Rodney's having nightmares. Carson's being treated for depression, and refuses to go off-world. Teyla's trying to pretend this isn't like losing her father all over again. And I – I lost the one man I truly trusted with the protection of this base.'

"You guys all need to buck up," said Sheppard, his voice gentle. "I'm glad to know I'm missed and all, but it's not going to help if this place starts falling to pieces without me to yell at you guys."

He left, heartsick. _His team_. That was his team, and it was falling apart. It wrenched at him almost as much as hearing one of them had been killed. He cherished these people, and the idea of them working with a leader they didn't trust – he swung furiously at a golf ball, sending it winging out of bounds across the perfect green course.

He was running, trying to shed the pain, unable to control his surroundings. He ran through Afghanistan, through wraith hive ships, through forests and cells and finally into that infuriating cloud of white. Finally he collapsed, his chest heaving. He looked upward and screamed for help. "Let me out of here!" Nobody answered, and he went limp on the floor, surrounded by blackness and fighting tears.

* * *

"John Sheppard."

"Hmmm?!" The unfamiliar voice was gentle, but he was startled. He'd gotten out of the habit of hearing voices he hadn't created. He sat up, infuriated. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he asked. "Of course you do, you're ascended. You sadistic, twis –"

"I'm sorry for your suffering, John. We've never known someone to cling to their former life with such tenacity. You must have truly loved those people."

"I loved my_ life_," Sheppard replied fiercely.

"Most people have an image in their head of how they are destined to die. What was yours?"

"Surrounded by beautiful women, on my own private –" there were no words rebuking him, but he felt it sharply. He spoke more softly. "I – always thought I would sacrifice my life for something, maybe someone – worth more than me."

"And you did," said the voice, a comforting presence near him. "Your death was an act of courage and sacrifice."

"Then why are you keeping me here?" asked Sheppard, the growl he felt inside lowering his tone of voice.

"You – are not –" there was a hesitation, and the voice continued with more certainty. "You are a good person, John Sheppard. But you carry with you the flaws of humanity in your willingness to kill, to steal, to make the suffering of others inconsequential when it serves your goals. You meet adversity with anger. You have not evolved to a plane where we could in good conscience allow you the power of the ascended."

Sheppard glared. The words stung. "I was never aiming for ascension, maybe that has something to do with it. The highest goal in my life has been to stay alive and protect the people I can. It's not so black and white down there, and I'm kind of okay with making the best of two bad choices when I have to."

He lowered his head for a split second, knowing this was safe despite his anger. It was the closest thing to a confessional he was every going to find. "Even though they give me nightmares sometimes."

There was that comforting presence again. "You will have no more nightmares," said the voice gently. "We're not judging you, John, or asking you to atone for your actions. This is not a punishment. It is simply a decision."


	5. Memories of sand

"Hey, Doc," said Sheppard, sitting and leaning back. "Missed me?"

Carson awoke and sat up, doing a double-take at the sight of Sheppard. "Aren't ye' dead, lad. Not that it's a burden to see ye' –"

"Afraid so," he said. "But I don't feel very dead."

"How ye' holdin' up, John?" asked Carson. There was deep compassion reflected in Carson's expression, and something about it made Sheppard feel almost hysterical with relief.

He shrugged. "I'm dead, I'm lonely, and I'm going insane. But right now, I get to talk to you instead of counting the ceiling tiles in Atlantis from memory, so….."

Carson stood and looked directly into his eyes. "We miss you more than I can ever describe. Seein' you right now is bloody awful, because I know I'm going to wake up and –" he threw his hands in the air. "Death doesn't look like it's treating you so well either, lad."

Sheppard shook his head. Suddenly he knew what that feeling gnawing at him was. It was grief. In Atlantis, he'd found everything that he'd longed for on earth, and now he'd lost it.

"I thought the living were supposed to grieve the dead," he commented dryly. "Dead guys aren't supposed to have to; I thought that was one of the perks."

"_You're_ grieving?" asked Carson, startled. "You need to leave that to us, John. We've been doing enough of it on our end, believe me."

"I'm sorry," said Sheppard. "I know I'm supposed to be resting in peace, but -" he shrugged. "I've never been good at resting _or_ peace."

* * *

"Huh. Funny to see you, because you're – well – regrettably, you're dead!" snapped McKay, glaring at him. "I think we've already established that I'm haunted, horrified, and will generally be sick about this – maybe even occasionally – very occasionally – blaming myself for it – for the rest of my life. So how about you stop haunting me and stay out of my dreams, okay?"

"I'm not exactly – _haunting_ you….." said Sheppard. "But thanks for the warm welcome."

"Ah –" Rodney yelped and pointed, sitting bolt upright. "This is so not right this is so not right. You're – you're – oh God, I'm going to die, aren't I? You've come to – to reap my soul, and –"

"Relax, Rodney," said Sheppard, sitting with an amused expression on his face. "I'm not here to reap any souls. I just wanted to say hi."

"Oh," said Rodney, blinking and looking even more stunned. His jaw went slack. "Is this – you? Am I actually talking to you? I guess stranger things have happened, I mean I did have a whole other entire consciousness in my body once – oh, no no no!"

McKay leapt to his feet and stood on the bed, clutching the covers around his body. "You're going to take over my body, aren't you? You're going to-"

"No, I'm not," said Sheppard patiently. "I'm trapped on a separate plane of existence, and it's pretty lonely. I've figured out how to communicate with you, but only when you're asleep. You're actually asleep right now, but this isn't a dream. You actually are talking to me – or my consciousness, anyway. So let's try this again. Hi, how have you been?"

"Not – very good," he said, still frightened as he sat down, continuing to stare at Sheppard. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry – if I hadn't left you – or if I'd been able to figure out where that ship was in time –" his jaw trembled and he looked away.

"It's okay, Rodney," said Sheppard. "I gave the order, remember? And I'm sure if there'd been more time, you would have found me."

McKay shook his head. "No," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I shouldn't have left, you shouldn't have been alone, I-"

"Stop it!" ordered Sheppard. "If you hadn't left, you'd have been captured too, and that would have made the situation a lot more agonizing for both of us, not to mention you'd be dead and Atlantis wouldn't have its lead scientist any longer."

"Oh. Well. You're right. I am needed here. And I'm not very good at the horrific painful death thing, either." His momentarily chipper mood vanished in a flash. "I'm so sorry – I – what I mean to say is –"

Sheppard gave him a reassuring smile. "I died horribly, and you're haunted by that?" McKay closed his eyes and nodded. "I know the feeling," said Sheppard, no longer smiling. He proceeded carefully. "But what happened to me was your nightmare, not mine. There are things I hate a lot more than pain, and I really wasn't scared. In agony, maybe, but I was more or less okay with it. And right now I'm in a place where I can be in any version of heaven I can imagine."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think you'd be making better use of it, though. All I end up doing is hanging out in Atlantis feeling wistful. Kind of a waste, really."

"Wow, your fantasies really - suck," said McKay.

* * *

"Teyla! Teyla! I'm not a wraith…..Teyla?" Teyla shifted in her sleep, jerking the covers away from her face. "Let me in, please? It's John. You know, John Sheppard, good-looking guy, smart, funny, always trying to get you killed?"

She opened her mind with immense caution, closing herself off instantly at the sight of Sheppard standing at the far side of the room, his hands held up reassuringly. It was a trick. It was a wraith projection, designed to catch her off guard.

"I'm not a wraith," he repeated. "I'm just here, trying to talk to a friend. I won't ask you any questions about Atlantis, or Earth, or any of our operations. I just want to talk."

She swung her legs off the bed, sitting and studying him. "Hi, Teyla," he said, lowering his hands slowly. "Missed you." His eyes lacked their usual sparkle; there was something pitifully entreating in his expression.

"Hi – John," she said slowly. "Come. Sit." He approached and sat on the bed beside her at a careful distance, and the light returned to his eyes when he grinned at her.

"Thanks for humoring me. It's lonely, being dead."

She moved closer to his side, and he cautiously wrapped an arm around her shoulders with that nervous, awkward manner of his. Teyla started to return the gesture and stopped, feeling the slight tension she caused. Even in death, John wasn't comfortable with touch. But his hug was gentle and heartbreakingly sincere, and she relaxed against his side, trying to keep tears from stinging at her eyes.

She ventured a glance at his face. He wasn't looking at her; he was staring into space with a lost look that she'd only seen the most brief glimpses of. She rested her head on his shoulder, and that companionship, he accepted. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers, and over the minutes it lulled her into relaxation, the grief fading as she closed her eyes.

* * *

Teyla awoke, startled. She looked around the room. It was dark and peaceful, nothing out of place. She tried to lie back down, but her body didn't respond. Instead, it swung its legs off the bed and stood of its own volition. She cried out, chilled and fighting a sense of horror. That wasn't _her_ in her body.

Sheppard cringed inside and ran like hell. _What did I just do?_ He was on that blasted beach again. Running from the horror he'd felt in every fiber of Teyla's body. _Teyla's body. Oh, no_. He stopped, planting his hands on his knees and gasping for breath. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

He ran along the beach, his legs burning from the effort of keeping pace in the deep sand. _I can't go back to Atlantis._ He ran faster, trying to kill the emotional pain with physical exhaustion. His legs were shaking, faltering, but he forced himself forward with all his strength, his lungs gasping for air. None of it erased that sickening sensation he'd felt in his friend, or the utter grief of feeling he couldn't go back, shouldn't go back.

His body finally gave up the fight, and he collapsed in the warm sand, still struggling to drive himself forward. _Bad idea. Bad idea. _The ghosts of Afghanistan were too close here, in this land of sand and loneliness. He raised his hand to wipe at the stinging sensation in his eyes, and found tears. He squeezed them shut and flattened his body on the sand. He didn't sob, or make so much as a sound. His father had made certain that young John Sheppard would forever be afraid to cry, and now the adult simply lay motionless, his heart breaking.

Slowly some semblance of rational thought started to emerge. He was losing hope. The last time that had happened was Afghanistan; lying here in the sand it was all to easy to remember the crushing heartbreak and despair of those weeks, of losing the will to live and giving up hope of a rescue. He felt that now, too. He'd died alone, and now he was in a place where nobody could come for him.

_Buck up, John. What happened last time? You were rescued, against all odds_. He opened his eyes and let them wander over the tiny grains of soft sand, the delicate mix of colors leading the eye on like a kaleidoscope. The memories of that rescue were among his most cherished; he'd never been able to express to any person, not even the team that had come for him, how intensely he'd experienced the relief of being rescued and protected.

Those weeks had dulled him, perhaps forever, to pain and cruelty. What little vulnerability that had survived his father vanished. He hadn't even known the team that extracted him, or the doctors and nurses who had treated him. Just that they had cared. It showed in every move, every word, every touch. Strangers had rescued him from hell, protected him with their lives, and spent hours treating him, caring for him, greeting him with gentle voices and kindness every time he awoke. He had never felt anything that wonderful, or been touched so deeply.

He realized he was smiling softly, despite the tears that were still leaking from his eyes. _You believed they couldn't rescue you then. So maybe there's hope now_? He sat and watched the waves. He'd found his very own team, one that cared about him that much every single day. One he cared for with a passion he'd rarely known. _I'm not giving that up. I can't. I'm getting back. _

How?


	6. Groundwork

Teyla awoke Ronon. "He is alive, Ronon. John Shepard is alive."

Ronan stood in a bound, fastening his gun to his side. "Where is he? I'll go get him-"

She cut him off with a touch on the arm. "I do not think we can. I do not know how such a thing is possible, but I believe his soul is alive and trying to be with us. His body is still very much dead."

* * *

Elizabeth looked up from her coffee, meeting McKay's eyes. It was late, but neither could sleep. McKay's expression echoed the haunted feeling in her heart. "He's alive, Rodney," she said finally.

"I know." His voice was choked, and completely out of character, he said no more.

Teyla and Ronon entered, sitting at the table. "John's alive," said Ronon, grabbing a cup.

"Funny – I –" McKay pointed to himself "-we – were just saying that."

"He – was lonely, and I was grieving. We were sitting next to each other – he had his arm around me." Teyla paused, allowing the sudden impulse to tears to pass. "I started to fall asleep there, and he – I don't think he meant to do it, but he inhabited my body."

"Like –" McKay pointed at himself. "Like when I – she –"

"Yes. I woke up – as him. And then I realized what was happening, and he must have too, because he left."

McKay reached for her hand with hesitation, not grasping it but touching it gently with the back of his. Teyla smiled and inclined her head in a nod of gratitude. "I am fine, Rodney."

"No, you're not," said McKay. "Been there, remember?"

Elizabeth swirled the coffee in her cup. "He's not happy. Carson said he had – talked to him too, and it just about broke his heart. I don't know what's worse, thinking of him being dead, or thinking of him being alive and suffering."

"Not being able to rescue him," said Ronon. "That's what's killing me. I can't shoot my way onto a higher plane."

McKay rubbed his forehead with a groan. "What's killing me is, oh, right, the person I want to shoot every day of every week. If Caldwell gets wind that I'm working on this – or for that matter that any of us believe this, he'll have us committed. That man has no imagination. None."

"Take it easy on him, Rodney," said Elizabeth. "He's a good soldier, this is just too big of a job for him. It makes him tense, and he doesn't deal with that well."

Ronon snorted. "And that's why you wanted me to throw him in the brig last week? His tension is going to get us killed one of these days, and you know it. He's too busy covering his own ass and following his military protocols to follow his instincts. He's dangerous."

Weir nodded in agreement, setting down the cold coffee in exhaustion. "Well, padded cells or no, on my authority you have permission to work on whatever you can."

* * *

Sheppard lay on his back on the beach, looking up at the stars lighting up the navy sky with a wash of twinkling pinpricks. There was a full moon hanging low over the soft black waves rolling in continuously, their approach creating a soft, soothing rhythm of sound. The temperature was perfect, the lightest of breezes playing pleasantly over his skin. It was one of the most beautiful nights he had ever experienced, and he let it seep into his very soul, drawing courage for the conversations he was about to have.

* * *

"Teyla?" Sheppard kept his voice soft, nudging into her dreams as gently as he could. Her eyes flew open and she sat with a start, breathing heavily. He stared at the floor; being looked at like that by a member of his team – by _Teyla_ – was killing him. "You – are someone I trust – and-"

Teyla recovered almost instantly and got up, walking towards him. "It is all right, John. What you felt was my shock at being controlled by another being. It is something I guard against constantly, being controlled by wraith. Had I known what was happening, you would have had my full permission."

He still couldn't meet her eyes. "I didn't. I know how much it frightened you - I felt it."

"And you did not mean for it to happen," said Teyla, her voice as gentle as Sheppard's. "I felt that. Look at me."

He raised his eyes, feeling unbearably shy. She looked directly into his eyes and spoke. "I trust you, John. That has not changed."

* * *

"Carson?" Sheppard probed quietly at the sleeping doctor's dreams, remaining carefully at the other side of the room. Carson's eyes opened. "Were my remains ever recovered?"

"Aye," said Carson, his expression grim. "That's right – ye wouldn't know. Taggart sent your body through the gate right after. So we could see what he'd done up close and personal."

Sheppard's face twisted in distaste. "That was charming of him. Sorry about that."

"It's not for you to apologize for, lad," said Carson, waving Sheppard over to a chair. "We respected your wishes. Your body was not returned to Earth, and we told your father that you were lost in action."

Sheppard looked down, and the room fell quiet. "Let me guess. He didn't say much."

"If you'd been my son, I'd have left no stone unturned until I found out everything about what happened, and where your body was." Carson was visibly upset. "I'm sorry, John." He forced a smile. "We cared about ye."

"And that's why I wanted my remains to stay in Atlantis," said Sheppard. He looked back up at Carson. "My father wouldn't – when I was rescued in Afghanistan, he waited until a merger was complete to come see me. He might have actually been annoyed that I was alive."

"Oh, I doubt that, lad," said Carson, his voice soft.

Sheppard smiled, touched. "It's okay. It turns out I'm just one of those guys who has to go to another galaxy to find a home." He brought the conversation back on track without allowing himself down the path of grief. "What was done with my body?"

Carson looked unsettled at the swift and ruthless change of topic. "It – was placed in the cryo storage chamber. You left instructions that we could use it for research as we wished, so it was placed in storage intact should it become – useful – in the future." He met Sheppard's eyes. "If you'd like something else?"

Sheppard shook his head. "No. I'm just – thinking." He stood and prepared to leave. "Thank you, Carson."


	7. Escape attempt

"Doctor, you do realize when we said 'camp out,' we didn't mean it literally," said Ronon, surveying McKay's complex setup with great amusement. "There are beds in here, you know."

"I – I know," said McKay. "But I like privacy." He ducked into his tent and fished around, searching for something hidden by the air mattress and the very large pile of blankets. He emerged triumphant with a large camping lantern in his hand.

Ronon rolled his eyes. "We're on Atlantis. We have power. What do you need that thing for, anyway?"

"That's not the point," protested Rodney.

"No, it's not," said Teyla, sitting up from her bed. "The point is that we need to talk to John, and in order to do that as a group we need to all be here in one piece, and asleep." She glared pointedly at McKay and Ronon, and Ronon lay back down with a grin. McKay retreated into the tent with his lantern and zipped up the flaps.

* * *

There was a note on Rodney's door, and Sheppard peered at it in the soft lighting. "We're all in my lab. Come ASAP." He had to smile when he opened the door to the lab; beds had been wheeled in and tucked in every corner, and a camping tent was erected directly in the center of the room. That had McKay written all over it.

He knelt and zipped down the flaps, grinning at McKay's indignant howl. "So, you guys thinking the same thing I am?" he asked.

"Well, if by the same thing you mean integrating subatomic observations of scattered energy particles –"

Sheppard cut him off. "As a matter of fact, no. I was thinking of a way to fundamentally alter the universe in such a way as to render the existence of clowns physically impossible."

McKay glared. "_So_ glad I spent all those hours thinking about a way to bring you back so that we can once again be graced with your - delightful – gift for motivation."

"He hit me once, you know," said Beckett. "He told me to buck up, then he hit me!"

"Worked, didn't it?" asked Sheppard.

Carson looked down. "Aye." He was smiling despite himself.

"Well, there you have it," said Sheppard.

"Okay, here's the thing," said Rodney. "If we were to revive your body as much as humanly possible, there is the slimmest of slim possibilities that you might be able to inhabit and control it the way you did with – with Teyla." He gave her an apologetic glance.

"The thing that has me worried is that your physical body would be in seriously unstable condition, and I have no idea what would happen if you were to die while inhabiting it. It could be that if you're successful at becoming – you – again, you could be you enough to die."

Sheppard nodded. "Carson? What kind of shape is my body in?"

Carson sighed. "Well, my biggest concern is, of course, the fact that your body is completely brain dead. I'm not talking about a coma-like state, lad. For this to work, you would have to be capable of-"

Sheppard cut him off. "I believe my present consciousness is capable of controlling both higher and lower brain functions. My body here, it you want to call it that, breathes and walks and feels just like the real thing."

"One step ahead of us, aren't ye?" asked Carson with a smile.

"Lots of spare time," said Sheppard dryly.

"Well, lad –" he hesitated. "I've examined your body carefully…" he was clearly at a loss as to how to have this conversation. "If we disregard the irreversible brain damage, the real challenge will be getting your body stable enough, managing enough functions like respiration and circulation artificially that you don't die immediately. If you manage this, you may be unconscious for some time afterwards."

"Is it – would my body still be - worth living in?"

"Aye," said Carson, smiling. "I believe so. You'll be in considerable pain, but nothing I can't help you through, and your wounds should heal, if this works. Well worth the living through."

Beckett grew serious. "I can't give you any guarantees, John. You'll be on cardiopulmonary bypass, dialysis-"

Sheppard's face was twisted in distaste. "Do me a favor? Don't tell me any more. Just do what you can."

* * *

"Well?" asked McKay when an obviously exhausted Carson finally appeared from the infirmary.

"Well, I feel like bloody Frankenstein," said Carson. He wiped his face and tried to appear refreshed. "I have a corpse on life support in there."

Rodney gave a small shudder, and Carson nodded. "Aye. I've done my share of autopsies, but reanimating one of my best friends is nasty work. For what it's worth, his leg is patched up, and I have an artificial heartbeat, respiration, and kidney function online, and I've replaced the blood he lost. I could live two lifetimes without doing that again, I tell you."

A very pale Rodney gave the doctor an attempt at a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Carson smiled gratefully and waved him forward. "The others are waiting in the mess hall. They'll want to know."

_

* * *

_

This is just not right!

Sheppard was standing in the infirmary, looking at his body. Mercifully, most of it was covered with sheets, but he didn't like the look of what little he could see. His face was pale and discolored with cuts and bruises. His chest was rising and falling, but his face was clearly and sickeningly lifeless. There was a tube running down his throat, and so many more tubes elsewhere – he threw out a hand to steady himself. This looked more like torture than what had killed him.

He sat down in a nearby chair, and closed his eyes, trying to relax. Without looking, he reached out and took his own hand. There was nothing to communicate with, just a blank slate.

He thought back to the connection with Teyla. It had happened when he had relaxed, welcoming the comfort of a warm, friendly body against his. There had been a split second of absolute trust, and the next thing he knew, he was sitting up in the bed. He ventured a glance out of the corner of his eye. The sight of his lifeless body with its tubes didn't inspire trust and affection, it made him want to run.

He shut his eyes again. _This plane is what you make of it_. He imagined floating, relaxed, in a soft white cloud. His body was beside him, its features peaceful and unmarred, simply awaiting his return.

* * *

The weight was insufferable, crushing the life out of him, making it nearly impossible to breathe. _You're dead, you don't have a body, you don't need to breathe._ He repeated it to himself over and over, trying to move, trying to escape. His ability to make sandy beaches and lush golf courses had disappeared, trapping him in a field of darkness so overwhelming he couldn't even think.

He wanted to sob as the hours, perhaps even days, wore on. Even that was impossible; he couldn't draw that much air into his lungs.

* * *

It had been longer than he even wanted to imagine when the weight was finally lifted, darkness shifting to bright light that seared him. He was yanked to his feet, forced to support himself on legs so weak and shaking that every second was an ordeal. He could cry out now, and he did, screaming in protest.

"Be quiet, or you will be punished again." All the air was stolen from his lungs, leaving him choking and gagging as he struggled to breathe. A short time later he was released, and the voice spoke again. "We gave you paradise. Why would you defy us and try to return to your own world?"

"I didn't know I was defying you," he replied, his voice weak and quiet. "I was making of it what I wished. Someone said I could do that." Abruptly, he was allowed to sit. He couldn't see the chair, but it was comfortable, and he gasped in relief.

Carefully concealed, a wave of excitement surged through him. _The fact that they thought he could try to return, coupled with the fact that they were concerned enough about it to punish him – was it possible after all?_

"Who are you?" he asked, too weak to say it with much spirit.

"I am Mia, head of the judicial counsel."

"Nice to meet you," he said weakly. He sensed a certain forgiveness in her demeanor, and a temple of some sort appeared around him. Mia was a graceful figure, seated at the end of a long table. "Tell you what, next time, how 'bout you talk to me first?"

"Talk only brings lies, John Sheppard. To be very clear, you will not try to escape this plane. You may spend time with those you left behind, but only in your mind. Is that clear to you?"


	8. How to fight an ascended being, 101

_You meet adversity with anger._

"Hell, yes, I do!" Sheppard stood on the beach and yelled at the top of his lungs. "Why don't you face me, instead of dumping me out here again? And whatever happened to not intervening?"

There was no answer, and he strolled furiously down the beach and into Atlantis's armory. He collected a P90 and fired and reloaded, over and over again, until he was focused enough to hit the center of the target every single time. It was pure fantasy and he knew it, but somehow it still helped.

* * *

"Oh, thank God," said Rodney, emerging from the tent he now had set up in the infirmary, complete with prescription mattress. "We haven't heard from you in days – there's no brain activity – we thought –"

"I'm okay, Rodney," said Sheppard. "Well – not any deader than I was, at least. But I'm developing a major bone to pick with these ascended beings. They stopped me from coming back, punished me for trying, and then dumped me on a beach without so much as a by your leave."

"That sounds – that doesn't sound very enlightened," said Rodney. "So – does this mean you can't –"

"No," said Sheppard grimly. "It means I'm trying again now and every single chance I get until I manage it or they give up."

* * *

A wall of white was thrown up in front of him, and a figure stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We can't let you do this, John Sheppard." Before he could blink an eye, he was contorted on the ground, screaming as every muscle in his body seemed to stretch to its breaking point. The pain didn't end until he was too weak to move, and he lay in a crumpled heap trying to catch his breath. An unseen force slammed him down on another floor, forcing him to his knees, pulling his hands behind his back and jerking them upward until he was bent double, gasping in pain. He was left there, alone and unable to move.

Finally someone entered the room, and Sheppard recognized the being he'd spoken to before. Mia. He felt a flash of anger rip down his spine. "I thought you made it a point not to intervene. You know what gives me the creeps about you guys? You have all these God-like powers, but you ascended from human beings. Advanced, enlightened humans, maybe, but you guys are pretty messed up. You just wash your hands of the world you left behind, and make it somehow not your problem that millions of people are suffering horrible, painful deaths at the hands of the wraith, or-"

Mia knelt in front of him, placing her hand under his chin and forcing it up until he was looking directly into his eyes. It made an already painful position pure agony, and he screamed. There was a flicker of compassion in her eyes, and the pain faded. Her eyes trapped him, keeping him from blinking and looking away, and he had the uncanny feeling the very depths of his soul were being examined.

"You are a warrior and a protector," she said, releasing his head. She allowed him to stand, and helped him to a chair at the end of the grand table. She took her own seat at the opposite end.

"Well – yeah," said Sheppard.

"So it is in your nature to want to destroy your enemies, and protect those in danger. But what of the wraith? Have you not become an enemy to them? You seek to destroy them, do they not, then, need protecting from you? You see, John, there are many sides to this universe, and by taking one side we can only harm another. It is best to leave well enough alone."

"You aren't as benevolent or as enlightened as you think," said Sheppard.

"No?" asked Mia, not ruffled by the challenge.

"You _punished_ Chaya for saving her people. You punished me with no explanation, for violating a rule I didn't even know you had. That's not enlightened, it's cruel and petty and really only something a human would come up with. Putting someone in unending exile and torment isn't very nice, you know."

Mia smiled, a humorous twinkle in her eyes. "You want to _protect_ her, don't you?"

"Well – yes." Sheppard stared at her. "Look, this isn't funny. Not to me. "

"You can be cruel and petty too," she said. "You once tried to starve a wraith to death, simply because he was a wraith and you didn't like him. You were too arrogant and concerned with your own self-preservation to release a prisoner you had no way to care for, so -"

"But here's the difference," said Sheppard, his voice sharp. "I'm human and I never claimed or pretended to be better. That was cruel and I regret it. If you can see that much about me, you know I've learned a few lessons since then. The compassionate part of me would like a do-over on that and a lot of other things I've done, but I don't see compassion moving you to end Chaya's torment, or letting me go home."

"So you are asking me to be moved by human emotions, while you criticize me for retaining too many human instincts?" Sheppard set his jaw. He was growing furious at the unending circle of discussion, but something told him this fight would be most easily won through philosophical sparring.

"You're retaining all the bad ones," he protested. "Look – I've got a very good idea of what you – beings – had to go through to get here. I know you have to be very advanced in many ways, and I know you consider it wrong to exploit the power you have."

Mia nodded, and Sheppard continued. "So if you won't allow yourselves to be gods _or_ humans, what are you? You've stripped yourselves of caring, compassion-"

Mia threw her hand up. "We feel caring and compassion, John Sheppard. Even for you. Why do you think I'm speaking to you, right now?"

"Now that's just twisted," said Sheppard. "Okay, let me put it another way. You possess compassion, but don't allow yourselves to act on it. You felt compassion for me while you held me on my knees screaming. Do you feel compassion when the wraith cull an entire population of men, women, and children while you watch?"

"You yourself have watched such things, John Sheppard. I can see inside of you enough to know they caused you great pain. How are you any different from us?"

_"I was trying to save them," he sobbed. His father had ordered the litter of kittens infesting the stable to be destroyed, but he managed to tuck two of the fragile, trusting little creatures under his clothing in time to hide them from the groom. He'd been taking care of them in secret for two weeks now, and his father killed them in front of his eyes. "They didn't deserve to die. They were helpless."_

_"All the riffraff of this world pretends to be nice to get something out of you," said his father patiently. "What do you think, I'm going to allow my stable to be overrun with vermin just because they have cute little faces? That sort of attitude will kill you in business, son." _

Sheppard squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. How blindingly obtuse could these people be? "The difference is, I couldn't do anything about it. You can. And by the way, I don't _hurt_ people I feel compassion for, either."

She nodded slowly, watching him for a long time. "You are a protector to the very core of you, and I can tell you care very passionately about your duty. But you are a blunt instrument of war, by chosen profession. We have chosen the more difficult route of peace, where Neanderthal notions of battle and honor have no place."

Sheppard's mouth twitched in a smile. "Your blunt instrument of war double-majored in philosophy at Stanford, did you know that?" She looked puzzled; apparently the ascended weren't keeping up with their Earth knowledge. "I have devoted years of my life to the study of philosophy, Mia."

"And yet you've chosen this path for yourself?" She looked genuinely curious.

_"Where's Rogue?" he asked the maid when he finally ventured from his room, his eyes still red from crying. His finely bred Corgi lacked all sense of decorum, much to John's delight, and usually met him at the foot of the stairs in a flurry of jumping and spinning. _

_"Gone," said his father coldly from across the room. "Along with the polo pony I was so foolish as to buy you." _

_John's whole body went cold with shock, rage, and grief competing in his stunned mind. "That was my dog!" he screamed. _

_"It was, until you cried in your room for hours over a couple of worthless strays," answered his father. _

_"You have no right to – they were helpless!" The tears were flowing again. "What's next, you're going to break _my_ neck?"_

_His father looked irritated. "No, but I will strap you if you don't stop sniveling like a girl. Emotional excesses like this will get you exactly nowhere in business, son. This sort of weakness will get you eaten by hyenas in a board room. You look out for yourself and what benefits you, and you forget about the weaklings of this world."_

_"One of these days, I'll be able to stop you." He could barely speak through the tears, but he knew it was true. He was going to grow larger and stronger and tougher, and there was going to be a day when his father couldn't destroy the only things he loved._

_"No, son," said his father gently. "One of these days, you are going to rule an empire."_

"Yes," said Sheppard. "If there is no one true and completely defensible path, then it just makes sense to me to follow the one that I can live with. And that means when I see an innocent in harm's way, I protect them. I think what you do, sitting by and watching the world turn, that's the coward's way out. If you don't do anything, none of the horrors will be your fault, will they?"

She smiled softly. "Not when we are not the ones committing them, John Sheppard. You are intelligent man, and I am enjoying this debate with you. Perhaps we can continue at some time in the future. But I should warn you, you will not be allowed-"

"- to escape, blah, blah, blah," said Sheppard. "Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that? It gets old, so let me give you a warning of my own. I have eternity to try this, I'm not afraid to be punished, and if I get really sick and tired of getting jerked around, I'll ascend."

He caught the roll of Mia's eyes. "Yes, little as the idea of becoming one of you misguided beings appeals, I know a good deal about ascension. Enough to pull it off. And if I decide to do that, you'll learn just how much of a pain in the neck I can be. I'm good at it."

Despite herself, Mia grinned again. "I think I'm finding that out already."

"You don't know the half of it." Sheppard's voice was playful, but his eyes were deadly serious.

"So what are you asking of me?" asked Mia.

He answered carefully. "I'm asking you to stop being hypocrites. I'm asking you to be human. Compassion is one of the nicer things about human beings, you know. Let me rejoin my family, and let Chaya come back to hers. Using force to keep me here is pretty much interference, when you think about it."

She stood and approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He felt it not as touch, but as the lifting of the weight of a lifetime from his shoulders, as every form of comfort he could imagine. "You are free to go, John Sheppard."


	9. A new family

It wasn't working. Try as he might, he couldn't. He was standing over his body, lost in thought, when Teyla walked up beside him.

* * *

She studied his face. He looked young, she thought, and very tired. "Let me help," she said softly.

"I – don't think you can," he said. "Thank you – though."

"Long day?" she questioned.

He nodded. "Very." He glanced away, grave. "Hard day."

She moved close to him and started to reach around his shoulder in a hug, but he stopped her. Not moving away, she looked up into his face. His expression was torn between affection and fear, a heartbreaking mix. "I'm trying to hug a friend, John," she said, aware of the intensity in her voice. "But if you should enter my body, intentionally or not, I think I can help. I have a great deal more affection for the man lying on that bed than you do, and mental control is something I mastered a long time ago. If you can trust me enough to at least try-"

He didn't speak or meet her eyes, but he motioned her forward with an uncertain touch on the arm. She wrapped her arms around him in a deep hug. "You're shaking."

"I know. Sorry."

She held him for what seemed like forever, and finally he began to relax, breathing more steadily as he reached his arms around her carefully in return. She spoke again. "You once said you would do anything, for any one of us." He nodded, clutching her a little tighter. "The same is true for me. Let me help."

In the space of time it took her to blink, there was another consciousness in her body. A hurt, terrified, and very tired consciousness. She didn't know is she had ever known their leader to be so vulnerable, and even his very vulnerability seemed to frighten him. _It is okay, John. _She tried to reassure him with her mind. _I would never hurt you in any way._

_"This hurts me more than it hurts you, son." His father, who never touched him, stroked the side of his face with his hand, and he shrunk away. He couldn't stop crying during his father's relentless attack with the belt; his heart was breaking into a million pieces. _

Teyla was probing at him gently with her mind, repeating the same soft words. _We would never hurt you. It's okay. You have a new family._

"Thank you," he whispered finally. He tensed again, and was instantly reassured. _Nobody will ever know of this._ Teyla took control gracefully, lying on the soft hospital bed next to his body, reaching out and taking his hand. He laid there with her, gradually relaxing and letting his eyes drift shut.

* * *

Carson was shaking her arm gently, and she opened her eyes, awaking with a start. "I don't know what you did, love, but I thought ye' might wanne' be the first to see this." He pointed to the screen above the bed next to hers. "That's brain activity. _Normal_ brain activity."


	10. Recovery

Sheppard's body convulsed in a cough, and Carson eased the tube out of his throat. "He's breathing on his own. Regaining consciousness." He glanced at Ronon, who had been holding vigil next to the colonel. No matter what else was happening in the city, someone had been at Sheppard's side during every minute of the week he'd been lying unconscious. Ronon lost no time in radioing the rest of the team.

* * *

Sheppard opened his eyes. "Either – I'm back, or those ascended people are really mad at me again," he said weakly. His eyes drifted shut again.

McKay whipped his head around, his eyes lighting up. "John?"

Carson stood with a smile spreading across his face. "Welcome back, lad. We missed you somethin' terrible," he said, putting his hand on John's in a gently ecstatic greeting.

"You're – you're alive." McKay was standing too. "That's – that's incredible. It was my idea, you know -"

Carson patted him on the shoulder. "There's a few others may have had a wee bit to do with it," he said, smiling in open affection.

Elizabeth was the next to speak. "Good job, doctor." Sheppard's eyes drifted open again. They were sleepy and glazed, but filled with joy. Elizabeth moved close to his side, smiling at the heartfelt warmth of that expression. "Welcome home, Colonel. I never could quite believe we'd lost you."

Sheppard gave a tiny nod, a drugged grin on his face. His eyes searched for Teyla and Ronon, and found them standing off to the side. Ronon had his arm around Teyla's shoulders, and both were smiling broadly. Carson put a hand on his shoulder. "How are you feeling? I expect you'll be quite weak for some time, but we can help with the pain, and make you as comfortable as possible."

He closed his eyes, clearly marshalling the energy to speak. "Everything hurts. My leg-"

Carson gave his shoulder a reassuring rub. "Aye, the leg was a bloody mess. But I already put the pieces back together. You're going to be right as new afore long." He connected a syringe to Sheppard's IV line and began slowly depressing the plunger. "Morphine," he explained. "Should take care of any worries. No call for you to be in pain."

* * *

Sheppard closed his eyes, the drug trickling into his bloodstream fostering a sense of contentment. The world went from dizzying and painful to comfortable and very, very safe. He couldn't exactly make out what the familiar voices around him were saying, but he didn't have to. He was home.

The ache of his wounds was fading, and he tried to open his eyes to speak to the others. He found he couldn't, and sudden panic jolted through him. "Don't – knock – me – out," he whispered. He wasn't going to risk losing this. The idea of sleeping and slipping away into the void again made his blood run cold.

* * *

Carson heard the barely audible plea and moved his hand from the plunger, glancing at his monitors. Sheppard's heart rate had spiked sharply, his fear written as digits on a screen. "All right, lad." 

Sheppard's body was shaking slightly, and his heart rate was increasing. Carson reached out and touched his shoulder reassuringly; it helped a little, but he could feel the slight quiver of his muscles. "Colonel?" he asked, puzzled and not a little concerned. His breathing and heart rate steadied, and Carson kept light contact with the man's shoulder. Sheppard's expression was neutral, but Carson could see what looked suspiciously like a tear in the corner of one closed eye.

He waved at a nurse. "I need a light stimulant, lass. Just a wee bit, to counteract the sedating effect of the morphine." It was nothing but a hunch, but hunches had carried him a long way in medicine. He gave the injection and waited, hoping he hadn't made his friend's condition any more unstable. 

"Is he-" Rodney started to speak nervously, but Elizabeth cut him off with a glare and they continued to watch in silence. Sheppard relaxed with a deep sigh as the stimulant took effect, and finally opened his eyes, looking directly at Carson. 

"Thanks." He looked sheepish, and had to look away to continue. "Not – ready to go back there yet."

"Ah, we're keepin' you here with us," said Carson. "Believe me, lad, there's no way we're losing you again." He looked to the crowd in the infirmary. Normally not what he'd suggest surrounding an incredibly weak patient with, but he imagined this was exactly the right medicine for John Sheppard.

The doctor motioned with his hand. "Softly, now. He's conscious, but he's very weak and I gave him a good bit of morphine. I wouldn't try to talk right now."

"No need to talk," said Ronon, striding to the side of the bed and gripping Sheppard's limp hand firmly in his. It was as close to a bear-hug as he dared, and Sheppard grinned happily, trying to keep his eyes open.

* * *

Sheppard gave a low groan. "I hate ascended people." He wasn't aware of exactly who was at his side; he simply knew that someone was. 

"Do you. Really." Rodney looked at him skeptically. "Seems like you've been pretty fond of a couple."

"Okay, one or two might be okay. But if you ever meet one named Mia, run. Just thinking about her gives me a headache. That is one deeply messed up lady."

"Did she hurt you? Was she the one trying to keep you from coming back?"

Sheppard nodded. "She hurt me, engaged me in philosophical debate, comforted me –" he shuddered. "Reminded me of someone else I could stand to forget." 

"So." Rodney counted off on his fingers. "Iratus bugs, clowns, and all ascended beings aside from those with which you are currently having sex-"

"Give it a break, Rodney," protested Sheppard. "This was not enjoyable. In fact if I die again, shoot me."

* * *

"John, you've been awake for thirty bloody hours! You must sleep," said Carson firmly, wishing for once that the man wasn't so stubborn.

"Stayed awake a lot longer than that before," said Sheppard. 

"But not when you were half dead, I wager," argued Carson. 

"Usually – when I was half dead," replied Sheppard, dismissing the doctor's worries with a grin.

He couldn't remember ever having felt this exhausted, but every time he started to drift into sleep he was gripped with terror, heart racing, every part of his mind revolting at the mere thought of leaving again. He couldn't even see straight any more, let alone think. Something was shaking him, gripping his arm. 

"Look at me, John." It was Carson, speaking in a tone that would not be ignored. He managed to focus his gaze on the doctor. "This could kill you. Sleep deprivation and acute emotional distress is the last thing your body needs while it is fighting to stay alive. That leg was a bloody nightmare to treat, and you are this close to succumbing to a very serious infection."

Sheppard winced, closing his eyes. Every feeling he had was rubbed raw, the lack of sleep and the trauma of the last few weeks stripping his ability to guard his feelings. Getting yelled at by Carson –

_"Stop crying! You think a sniveling, weak-minded –"_

The doctor touched his hand gently, and he forced his eyes open. There was kindness in the doctor's manner; genuine kindness, not the sickening, twisted variety that came from people who ripped your world apart under the guise of caring. 

"I need you to trust me, lad." Carson's voice was low and gentle; he clearly recognized that the commanding tone had been a mistake. "It is my opinion as a doctor and a rational human being that you have to be sedated, and that you will come out of it. It would break our hearts to lose you again, Colonel."

"Okay," whispered Sheppard, closing his eyes and fighting the feeling that he'd just agreed to let Carson execute him. "Go ahead." He caught the telltale shake in his voice and shut up. 

He felt the needle in his arm, and the doctor's reassuring voice. "That's it, lad. You are going to be back with us in no time, I promise. Sleep well, now." 

* * *

Elizabeth Weir knew she should be resting, but she decided to spend one more hour with the sleeping colonel. "How are _you_ holding up, love?" asked Carson pointedly as he entered.

She gave him a tired smile. "Better than he is. How about you, doctor?'

Carson wheeled over a cart filled with bandages and sat with a tired smile. "Tired, same as you. It's difficult, treating a patient who has become so dear to – all of us."

Carson unwrapped the bandage protecting Sheppard's wrist where the ropes had shredded his skin. She'd seen the marks before, on his lifeless body, and had been incapable of looking closely. This time – they looked like they were healing; healing very well, in fact. Carson deftly applied a gel to the cuts, and she was about to look away when something caught her eye. "Are those scars?" she asked the doctor.

"Aye," said Carson. 

Elizabeth was silent while Carson finished, wrapping a soft bandage around their friend's injured wrist. "He came to Atlantis with those?" she asked finally. 

"Aye," said Carson. 

"Is that why he always wears that wristband?" Elizabeth asked. "To keep people from noticing?"

Carson shook his head. "I don't think so." He looked down at the sleeping Colonel. "He's never spoken of it, but he's not self-conscious about the scars. I think that band means something to him, but-" he smiled. "You know him, lass. He's not about to tell us."

Elizabeth sighed. The file was so cold and distant in its words about this very warm and lively human being. Captured – date, time, location. Extracted, date, time, location. Extraction was an odd name for the rescue that had obviously made such an impression on his entire being. Arrest, charges, date. The court-martial, plea bargaining – it had all ended up with this special soul taking up a new home so far from earth, and she felt a pang of guilt at being glad it had happened. 

She leaned forward, speaking softly. "Welcome home, John."

Elizabeth felt Carson's hand on her arm and stood. "He's lucky to have you, dear," said the tired doctor. 

* * *

Sheppard finally opened his eyes after what seemed like an eternity of drifting in and out of consciousness. Carson was sitting in a chair next to him, filling out charts. He wondered just how long the doctor had kept up this vigil; every time he'd been conscious for even a minute, Carson had been there to check on his pain medication, ask him how he was feeling, and reassure him that his condition was improving. "Sorry about all the work," he said, his voice coming out dry and scratchy. 

Carson smiled and held up a cup of water with a straw for him to sip at. "You just keep saving all our lives, lad." He patted Sheppard on the shoulder. "I'll keep fixing you up after."

* * *

Ronon withdrew a knife from his belt and handed it to Sheppard. "A get-well present?" asked Sheppard. "I've never known you to be that sentimental, are you all right?"

"It was Taggart's."

Sheppard looked at the blade with distaste. "I recognize it."

"Thought you might," said Ronon with a satisfied and very lethal smile. "Took it off him just before I sliced his throat open with it."

Sheppard looked up in mock alarm. "Tell me his head isn't on a spike outside my quarters."

"Wrong body part," said Ronon with a slightly sadistic gleam in his eye.

"I don't even want to – owwwwww!" Sheppard howled in sudden pain, startling both him and Ronan. He reached for his head, fingers exploring for the source of the burning, stinging sensation.

"What is it?" asked Carson, hurrying to the side of the bed and giving a very skeptical look at the knife as he gently pulled Sheppard's hand away from his head. 

"Something – hurts," said Sheppard. "I felt some kind of lump –" he grimaced and held himself still while the doctor pulled on gloves and started exploring his hair.

Beckett signaled a nurse. "I need a strong light, and an injection of Lidocaine. An offworld biohazard containment box, as well."

"What-" asked Sheppard, a bit dismayed.

Beckett placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Remember the round yellow creature that bit you? There is a small one here seems to have attached itself to your scalp. If I had to venture a guess, I would say it's been nesting in your hair, colonel."

"Great," muttered Sheppard, lying back and relaxing. "I sense another embarrassing 'welcome home from the strange planet' protocol in our futures."

"Aye," said Carson, grinning as he worked efficiently at detaching the pest. "We're going to have to start flea combing you. Daily." He dodged Sheppard's slap with ease. 


	11. Trust

"May I enter

"May I enter?" asked Teyla, standing at the door to his quarters. Sheppard was sitting on the bed, looking around. They had clearly moved out his possessions when he died, and struggled to put things back together for his return. The affection with which it had been done was plain, but the details were a little off.

He nodded. "Nice to be back in my own room."

Teyla smiled. "Remember Carson told you to take it easy. You still have much to recover from."

"I'll be running again in no time," replied Sheppard.

"Of that I am sure," said Teyla, closing the door and sitting. She decided not to point out that right now, he couldn't even walk without help. "You have been – reluctant – to face me since your return." He held his eyes slightly averted as he had ever since regaining consciousness.

She waited calmly for an answer. Sheppard held out a dish. "Hershey's Kisses? They're really good."

Teyla shook her head with a smile. "We are both leaders," she said. "We both know the responsibility of being strong for those we lead. Vulnerability is a thing we can rarely afford to show."

"Look, I-" Sheppard cut off his own words and resumed his study of the floor. "If you don't want to be on my team any more, I understand. I'll make sure you still play a vital role in the operations of At-"

The calm words nearly broke Teyla's heart. Rejection and hurt formed such an integral part of his background that he accepted them unflinchingly, like any routine matter to be expected. "I still wish to be on your team."

"Oh."

She moved closer to him. "You know as well as I do that true strength is reflected not in invulnerability, but in the ability to prevail despite that which shakes us to our core. I feel honored to have glimpsed that strength in you."

She said no more, simply meeting the steady gaze that searched her for any trace of pity or deception. Seeing none, his expression slowly became one of incredible affection and gentleness. He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. It was a custom of her people that a man uncomfortable with his own culture's expressions of affection had adopted with great sincerity.

"We are more than your subordinates, John. We are family. You do not always have to lead," said Teyla quietly, not moving away.

Sheppard raised his head and looked at her with a small smile. Deciding not to push her luck or make him speak, she returned the smile and stood. "Rest well," she said, departing without fanfare.

* * *

Elizabeth drew a deep breath, not looking up as Sheppard entered. Her eyes were fixated still on the fitness reports in front of her. Physically and psychologically, he'd been evaluated as fit to return to active duty. But unspoken in the reports was the same question that was lingering in her mind. How? How was it possible that a man could bounce back from something like this, and walk back into the field without flinching?

After weeks spending every spare moment at Sheppard's side while he recovered, she had come to care for him even more deeply as a friend, and it was proving harder than she had anticipated to turn that off and face him as a leader. To make for him, and for this base, one of the most critical decisions – she heard the movement all around the table and looked up.

"You were supposed to be alone," she said, trying not to smile. Sitting down on either side of Sheppard were Ronon, Teyla, Rodney, and Carson. As touched as she was by their show of loyalty, if she had to inform Sheppard that he could not assume his former duties, she would far rather do it without his team to listen.

"They didn't give me much say in the matter," said Sheppard, tossing her an offhanded but keenly understanding grin as he sat. "It's okay. My pride can handle getting fired in front of them."

"You're putting him on trial," said Ronon, looking her squarely in the eyes. "We intend to be here with him."

"Very well," she said, sober. "Colonel, I am aware that you want to return to the field. My question for you is why? We all know how much this incident cost you, physically and emotionally. You know as well as I do that the next time you step through that gate you could be killed again, and there probably wouldn't be any coming back."

Sheppard leaned forward. His expression was intense, but he was as at ease as he would have been at any other meeting. "Doctor – how many people do you know who've cheated death as literally as I just did? It's a bit of a confidence boost."

Elizabeth didn't look away. She had seen false bravado in many men, and this wasn't it. This man was more vulnerable and had more hidden under the surface than he cared to let people see, but his optimism and confidence were very real indeed. She spoke her next words carefully, not wanting to use his trust against him. "You were frightened by the thought of being sedated, because you were afraid you would slip away again. How can you not be afraid now?"

Sheppard read her discomfort and gave her a soft look as he considered his reply. He forgave her. "What happened to me while I was gone was –" he broke eye contact the way he so often did when uncomfortable expressing himself. "It wasn't death. It was everything I can't-"

She remembered his words when he'd appeared in her sleep. "You don't do being alone well."

His only answer was a shy smile, but she read his reaction as easily as if there had been words. _I let you in, and now you're using it against me. _His hurt didn't show, just a slight air of disappointment.

Sheppard leaned forward and put his hands together on the table. "Look – there are only a few ways this meeting can end. You can send me back to Earth, where I'll end up assigned to some secret project running whatever lower-level ops they figure they can trust to a potentially unstable guy who disobeys orders for a hobby. One of these days, either someone will show up with a sober look on his face and tell me you guys are dead so that I can spend the rest of my life blaming myself for not being there, or you're going to get a cryptic message to the effect that I died in action-"

"Colonel –" Elizabeth tried to interrupt.

Sheppard silenced her with a look that asked for patience. "Or, you could remove me from command, and let me stay here securing doors and running interference for your second-string science teams. And one day, everything will go to hell and you'll have to let me back in the game, and when it's all over suddenly you'll be able to trust me enough to let me run this place again."

Sheppard raised his head and met her eyes in a direct gaze. "Or, you could realize that I have managed to come back from this and from everything else that's gotten in my way over the years, and trust me."

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the sounds of breathing and uneasy sideways glances being exchanged around the table. Elizabeth closed the file that sat on the highly polished surface and folded her hands together neatly. Her posture mirrored that of Sheppard's, and at last she spoke. "I trust you, Colonel. Welcome back."

Weir tried to hide the fact that Sheppard's ecstatic grin made her heart melt, and passed him a paper. "You're being nominated for several medals. There's a situation with some new settlers developing on M7G-677 that could use your attention; it seems they think they can use the youth of the population to their advantage. Caldwell will stand down, brief you, and resume command of the Daedalus."

"Thank God," muttered Ronon under his breath. "Saves me the work of shooting him."

"Wait-" Rodney pointed at Ronon in excitement. "I though I was the only one who wanted to shoot him!"

"He's a good officer," interjected Sheppard firmly.

"One of the best," agreed Elizabeth. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather have in command of the Daedalus."

The team followed her lead and stood. "Doctor?" McKay's voice was tight, the way it usually was when he said something difficult for him.

"Yes, Rodney?" she asked.

"We trust you too," said Rodney.

She gave a tight smile. "But not so much that you'd let him attend this meeting alone."

"Would you have done so in our shoes?" asked Ronon, raising his eyebrows.

"No," said Weir. This time her smile was very genuine.


	12. The many faces of love

"They did let you go," Rodney pointed out. "Not to mention the whole saving your life thing."

"Uh-huh," said Sheppard as he finished chewing and set down his napkin. "Did I mention she pretty much tortured me? It gets old."

"She?" Rodney raised his eyebrows.

Sheppard nodded. "I used my best puppy-dog eyes, she took pity on me, and we talked philosophy until she agreed to let me go home. See? Messed up."

Rodney slammed his fork down on the tray. "An ascended woman. Why am I not surprised."

Sheppard slapped at him with a grin. "It wasn't the least bit sexy."

"Ah-" said Rodney, looking smug. "No, she just violated all the rules of her society because you were….smart?"

* * *

Sheppard snuck up behind Elizabeth in the control room. "Guess who's going on a mission?"

She spun around, startled, but happy to see the joyful light in the colonel's eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Better than ever," said Sheppard with a sincere smile.

* * *

He loved Atlantis's team armory. He wasn't sure what that said about him, but he loved gearing up here with the team, loved coming home sweaty and exhausted and ditching their gear before going for a well-deserved dinner. He even loved being in here alone on the quiet days, inspecting gear, cleaning weapons, and making cure everyone's tactical vests were supplied to head out on a moment's notice. But most of all, he loved getting ready for missions. He loved the calm, contained excitement just under the surface of all the preparations, the caring under the surface of the bustle.

He loved the quiet courage it took for this team to walk through the gate together. A warmhearted Scottish medical doctor, and brilliant Canadian scientist, a leader of an indigenous people, and a warrior right out of a comic book – a group so unlike the military teams he used to be a part of. All of them had much at stake, lives and fears and jobs of their own, but when they gathered in this room, they turned into a solid team with every ounce of courage and loyalty and skill of a military unit, only – better. It meant so much more, somehow, that they weren't doing this under orders.

Carson was struggling, as he often did, with the straps adjusting his tactical vest. When it came to medical gear, Carson could be counted on having everything in perfect order, ready for use in the space of a split second. But he wore the tactical gear with the sort of weary tolerance a pack horse might show, and more often than not they had to help him tug, prod, and nudge all the straps and gadgets into place. He was prone to getting himself into situations like the one he was currently in, having put his heavy pack on before adjusting his vest and then tugging futilely at bits and pieces trying to get it to sit right.

As he often did, Sheppard stood and tightened the straps for him, adjusted the pack, and made sure the load wasn't interfering with any of his weapons. In a military unit, such lack of self-reliance would have been cause for chewings-out and drilling, but Sheppard didn't mind. That heavy pack would be filled with medical supplies, testing gear, and a dozen other perfectly chosen and packed essentials that Carson knew how to use better than anyone in two galaxies.

Sheppard finished and gave the doctor an affectionate shove. Rodney looked ready to go. The civilian scientist was actually meticulous about his gear and weapons, checking and triple-checking everything on his own. He knew the terror of having a weapon malfunction when he needed it, and did everything in his power to make sure he was ready for whatever they might face. His vest pockets were, as usual, overstuffed to bursting with PowerBars. When it came to a choice between eating or making sure he had enough C4 and ammo and survival gear, McKay opted not to choose. He brought it all.

What Rodney didn't like was carrying extra gear. He shouldered his pack with the air of a man enduring secret and horrible abuse, and staggered under the weight. "Oh, come on," he grumbled, trying to shift the load. "What am I, a mule?"

Sheppard grinned. "You packed it. Give it a rest, Rodney. You're as strong as any of us – well, except for Ronon."

"This thing feels like it's filled with rocks!" McKay groaned. He removed the pack. "Okay, screw it. I've got to find something to leave behind. No way I'm carrying this thing through a swamp."

"Suit yourself," said Sheppard, shrugging his shoulders. "Wimp."

Rodney set the pack down and started digging through it, oblivious to Sheppard's growing smile and the knowing smirk spreading across Ronan's face. His hand emerged from the pack holding a large rock. "You didn't. You – oh, come _on_!" He pulled out another rock, and another, until he had a good forty pounds worth of stone piled on the floor.

Ronon sat on a bench in the corner, leaning back and watching with amusement as they packed and strapped and fiddled. He'd entered the armory wearing everything he needed, namely one gun and probably something approaching a couple dozen knives. Letting Ronon out on a mission was something akin to unleashing an amiable caged tiger.

He needed none of the preparation they so carefully engaged in, and made no attempt to hide his good-humored amusement at all the gadgets they required to do even the most basic of activities. He simply waited to prowl out at their side dressed in whatever clothing he happened to be wearing at the time, confident in his ability to meet any needs that might arise unencumbered by vests and packs full of every imaginable piece of survival gear.

Teyla double-checked the gun in her holster and looked at each member of the team, checking their gear and their demeanor much as Sheppard had done. She never stepped on Sheppard's toes, but the leader in her never quite slept. Her eyes landed on Sheppard last, her eyes calmly searching his face and his bearing. She must have been satisfied with what she saw, because her own expression softened as she stepped forward. "I believe we are ready, sir."

He loved seeing his team geared up and ready, their faces at once excited and apprehensive, the last minute ritual of sharing glances around the room. _Everyone okay? Got all your gear on right? Ready to do this?_ Also implicit in those glances was something far deeper. _If we don't come back – no regrets. _There was always deep caring, even love, in those unvoiced moments.

Today, though, there was something more in those glances when they were directed at him. Suppressed heartbreak, four people trying as hard as they could to remind themselves this wasn't goodbye. _I don't want to lose you again_. He could read the thoughts, and the pain behind them, as easily as he could breathe.

For a brief moment, he was deeply touched. In the next second, he was slapping himself internally for being a self-centered snot. These people, _his_ people, were still suffering the grief and trauma of his death. The fact that he'd managed to come back didn't erase what they'd gone through watching him die, or the guilt and heartbreak that had come after.

It was a subdued moment, five friends standing in a tight, protective circle. He didn't even want to think about what it would have done to him if it had been one of the others in his place. _If anyone so much as thinks about harming any of you guys, I'll kill them. _He usually tried not to think too hard about what could happen on missions, but right now, it was unavoidable.

"Look," he said softly. "I think we all love this too much not to do it. We're risking a lot – it's so much harder to think about losing a friend than it is to put your own life on the line. But sometimes knowing the risk just makes it more special. This – this is very special to me." He didn't realize his eyes had fallen to the ground until he felt Teyla and Ronon each place a hand on one of his shoulders.

He cleared his throat and continued. "We all know that what we have right now will end sometime – probably – not peacefully. And it hurts like hell to be the one to survive. But I think we all decided a long time ago to risk that along with our own lives."

Forget all the details. He loved his team. He closed his eyes for a moment so that the others couldn't see the emotion in them, and waved them forward towards the gate room.

* * *

Sheppard was grinning by the time they reached the gate room. McKay pointed at him. "What – what's the matter with him? Why does he look like all his wildest fantasies just came true, when we're going on a trip to harvest bacteria from a swamp planet?"

"Maybe he likes swamps," said Beckett, smiling.

Sheppard double-checked his holster and looked at his friends. Real, live, in the flesh. "Well – ah – actually, this is –" he broke off and looked down.

"Your fantasy?" offered Teyla, her voice affectionate.

Sheppard could feel himself blushing as he nodded. "When I was – away, I could make up whatever I wanted." He stopped again, giving them a hesitant glance. Nobody was mocking him. "Kept finding myself back here." He couldn't meet their eyes. "With –"

He turned his back to them and stared into the event horizon. _Come on, Sheppard. Buck up. Say it. _"- you guys." His voice came out all funny, and he cleared his throat.

Teyla appeared at his side. "I think I can speak for everyone, Colonel. Walking through this gate with you, alive and well, has been our dream ever since you died. This is a special time for all of us."

Sheppard bit his lower lip, embarrassed and happy and being way too obvious about it for his liking. "Come on, kids. We got ourselves a swamp to explore. Everyone stay away from quicksand and alligators."

They all walked through the gate, and Sheppard paused for a split second, mid-stride, to touch the event horizon_. Heaven. I'm in heaven. _

_

* * *

_

Well, we've reached the end…I hope you enjoyed it. This was my first SGA fic, and turned out to be a way for me to find my footing when it comes to writing Atlantis and its characters. It started out a bit rough, and if you've followed it from the beginning when I first started posting chapters, you might want to give some of the earlier ones a bit of a re-read. I've fleshed them out and corrected several mistakes and plot holes; feedback is what drives me to write, which can sometimes lead me to post too quickly rather than hang onto a chapter or a story concept until it's really ready. One of those things I need to work on - sigh.

If you liked this, I recently posted a short John Sheppard background story called Flight Patterns that you might enjoy checking out, and No Easy Way, a "missing scene" between Sheppard and Todd the wraith. I'm working on my second longer fic, which is the story of Sheppard teaching Rodney how to shoot…and both characters learning to trust and like each other along the way. I'm trying to hold off posting chapters for a bit while I get the story developed and put together, though.


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